Strange Birds
by escapiism
Summary: A transfer from state to state, simply by looking for a Great Perhaps, turns Emily's life into one hectic, frenetic disaster. From last words, now she's committing the Trifecta, and above all, she has to try and not fall in love with Alison DiLaurentis, the sweet, sweet hurricane that steals her heart over and over again. —emily/alison, based on "Looking For Alaska".
1. The Great Perhaps

_**Looking For Alaska**_ **just so happens to be one of my favourite books, and Emison just so happens to be one of my favourite ships, so I decided,** _ **why don't I merge them together?**_ **, and so here I am. This is not a carbon copy of the novel, just an imitation, because John Green is amazing (as is Emison). Couples that come with are Haleb (** _ **duhh**_ **), Spoby (** _ **also duhh**_ **), and Aria will have a... pretty disasterous love life. By the way, they're all seventeen.**

 **I don't exactly know what I've started, and I don't know how far I'll get with it, but for the time being, please enjoy the first chapter!**

* * *

 **the great perhaps**

* * *

 _i go to seek a great perhaps_  
 _ **— fran** **ç** **ois rabelais**_

* * *

Emily sometimes imagines that she's flying. Somewhere high up, away, and away from the earth, too far to even be scathed by her parents, anyone, anywhere. She just flies, and knocks down the bullies with the slightest flick of her finger; she just flies, and pretends that it's all real.

Then she wakes up, and she's back at home, in her world, and _she's_ the one being knocked down all the bullies with the _slightest_ flick of their fingers. They're all monsters, really, because they give her hell like no other, and Emily's positively convinced that they're the devil in disguise (in many disguises, in fact, which really, _really_ doesn't help the situation).

Emily manages to evade all the words that they chuck at her ( _"Fake fake fake!"_ ) and she avoids the notes, and the messages, ( _"Fake fake fake!"_ ), and usually, she succeeds in not being _all_ upset, and just _fed up_ with life. But she is—she's just fed up, and sick of life, and to say it doesn't hurt ( _"Fake fake fake!"_ ) would be like telling a lie, and no matter how good she is at escaping the truth by putting the exact right tone of her voice at each word, and putting on her best, strongest face, lies never feel... good.

That's why she asked her parents to transfer her from stupid, grabby, lowly _Texas High_ , to Rosewood Day, miles and miles away, in Pennsylvania. Emily promises herself that it's not because of the bullies ( _"Fake fake fake!"_ ), but because of François Rabelais, from that old biography she read the other day, and his words of wisdom about "seeking a _Great Perhaps_ ". And that's what she tells her parents. (It's not a lie, it really isn't.)

"Is it because of me?" her mother asks, in a quieter tone than most. If Emily is completely, downright honest, maybe she can give her mother just a minute amount of credit, because when Emily first came out, she _had_ given her hell on Earth (almost like those fake-fickled flicking bitches of Texas), and refused to believe that Emily, sweet, sweet Emily, was _gay_.

But Emily shakes her head defiantly, because no, it isn't. Not exactly.

"Is it because of me?" her father then asks, and this time, Emily finds it easier to say that it is, even if it isn't _completely_ , because Wayne Fields _did_ attend Rosewood Day before her, and was one of "those boys"—the ones who were able to raise hell and constant rebellions, simultaneously aceing all their tests.

"I said, like that poet, I wanted to find my 'Great Perhaps'," says Emily.

So her mom and dad agree—eventually.

* * *

The car stinks of old cigarettes and stale bread, but Emily ignores it, and takes the back seat, plugging in her earphones and playing her loudest music on repeat. It's times like this, when she loves to ignore life.

Texas paints a pretty picture—it's humid and hot as it is, but there are times when the sun sets like flames from a fire, and the red mixing with the orange makes life complete. There are times when she'll miss seeing these miraculous oil paintings, because that's how she concentrates, and forgets she exists. She flies across the sun, and no matter how close she gets, she sucks in no heat, and that's what she loves so much about dreams—they are always too good to be true.

"Emily," her father speaks up suddenly. "We're here."

Emily looks up and out of the window—there is no sunset visible, but the sky still paints a beautiful picture, with the pink and white coalescing in such a way she almost (almost, _almost_ ) forgets the way she feels like when she watches the Texas sky.

She then looks out in front of her, and the green and beyond, and catches sight of a blue sign, very unmistakable in its wake. _Welcome to Rosewood! Population: 7989_.

At this, she shudders—why would anyone write down the number of living human beings in one place? Death was a common thing, she wasn't _stupid_ , but it was like every funeral attended, everyone's respects paid, they'd... what, spray paint over the big, fat _9,_ and replace it with a big, fat _8_?

"Nervous?" asks her mother.

Absentmindedly, Emily nods, because she's never been more nervous in her entire life—like more than her third grade Christmas play, more than her geometry exam, more than _anything_. This is a school, a new school she is attending, in a completely different state, with completely new people, and god... her heart is pounding out of her chest and her head's aching fit to burst.

"Now we're _really_ here," her father says, and suddenly, the fear seeping in is replaced by sheer excitement, because now she just _can't_... _wait_...

And there goes the fear again—( _"Fake fake fake!"_ )

Her father parks the car, as Emily and her mom talk a little more—about stupid stuff, like how her mother promised her to report any cute girls who looked remotely bi on _America's Top Model_ , and to see if the Texas High Swim Team would fail miserably without their "Texan Butterfly".

Once they get out, they help unload the car trunk, and Emily walks into her new dorm room. The cinder block walls are puke green, a really beautiful colour, and the bunk bed of unfinished wood with vinyl mattresses are also covered with puke green duvet covers. The rug is also most certainly a beautiful sight, for it is (surprise, surprise) puke green!

"I can unpack by myself, Mom," Emily says, as Pam unpacked her boxes of biographies and random textbooks. Pam looks on the verge of tears as she nods, and embraces Emily, letting them spill. Her father joins this Fields' cuddling session, until Emily, too, starts to cry—she'll miss her parents. She'll miss them terribly, and no matter how embarrassing this feels, she loves it.

"Don't do anything stupid," her dad presses on. "No drugs. No drinking. No cigarettes." Wayne Fields was all about being a "rebellious bad boy", and goodness knew what _he_ got up to back in those days. She'd heard about his exhilarating escapades from her aunts and uncles, so she suspected he's been all about drugs, drinking, and cigarettes precisely.

"I love you," they both then blurt out. Emily's either burning with embarrassment, or crying from the concept of them leaving her behind in this unknown (and may she add, _freezing_ ) place. But all the same, she replies with an, "I love you, too", and hugs them again.

They leave, finally, and Emily's left to shiver within the walls of puke green.

She pulls out a book—it's a biography, the one about François Rabelei, and she repeats his last words, her own mantra. Then, she gets bored, and decides to take a shower.

The bathroom could never be classified a "luxury" even if it wanted to. It's about two metres wide, and two metres long, and the puke green (what was it about that colour?) really puts you off... pretty much everything, really. She gets into the shower, and the shock of cold water startles her—it startles her so much that she jumps out, pulls on a bathrobe, and rushes out of the room, barging straight into a girl, quite short, but curvy (in all the right places, may she add).

Emily studies her—Aria Montgomery, she must be. Like she read in her enrolment letter—just a name was all she got, and this was who she must be.

"Oh," the girl speaks. "You're my roommate."

Startled, and just a little taken aback, Emily nods. This—this isn't exactly how the best of good first impressions went, not with Emily almost naked except for a puke green towel, and not with almost, _almost_ being caught checking out her new roommate.

"H-hey?" Emily says, but it's more of a question than a statement—she has no idea how to act. Aria's looking straight into her, her face blank and emotionless, her eyes dark and almost brooding. For a girl so small, she's rather... _scary_.

"Hi," she deadpans. She then examines the towel Emily is wearing, and she can feel her face burn with the embarrassment. "Yeah, the towels are pretty limited colour-wise." She regains herself, and Emily can swear that she almost— _almost_ —see a smile creep up her lips. Then it goes again. "I'm Aria Montgomery." Emily's tempted to add on " _I know_ ", but even if she does, she decides against it, because there was always that thing about good first impressions. (And she'd already scored pretty low on that.)

"Emily Fields," Emily replies, and smiles.

She doesn't smile back (she's pretty hostile, coming to think of it), and instead crosses her eyes, only fixating her gaze on Emily.

"So... um..." Emily starts, unsure of what to do. "I like how you've decorated the place." Emily gestures around the room, almost covered inch by inch in posters of old sorts of bands— _The Beatles_ , the _Spice Girls_ , _All Time Low_ , and there were more that Emily hadn't even remotely heard of.

Aria gives her another _almost almost_ smile, before turning back into her original herself, evasive, displaying no emotion whatsoever.

"Uh..." _Small talk, Emily_ , she reminds herself, something her mother mentioned many years back, when she was still in that _making friends_ stage. She never really succeeded in the friend-making, though. "So... where are your parents?"

"My parents?" Aria looks at her, as if she is considering whether to answer or just ignore her. Emily almost screams in relief, when she chooses the former. "Well... my father's in, I don't know, Florida? New Mexico? _Finland_? I lose count—wherever he is, he's drinking. Or maybe feeding Lola for a change. And Mother? She's probably turning off campus as we speak, or she's with Mike, emptying out his pot stash."

Emily's left speechless: she has no clue how to react to such personal statements. It's not small talk anymore, god, it's escalated to... _gargantuan_ talk.

"And Emily?" asks Aria. Emily nods. "Get changed. It's freezing, and getting pneumonia's no fun."

Emily nods again, and hides behind the bunk beds, pulling out a pair of shorts and a stripy polo. "But I do really like the posters. I mean, I love the _Spice Girls_. Single Ladies? Masterpiece."

Aria peers at her inquisitively. "Beyonce wrote that."

"Yeah, uh... love her, too," Emily laughs nervously. "Um... like... Yoko Ono's my favourite _Spice Girl_ , yeah?"

"Yoko Ono's eighty-something, and the ex-wife of _John Lennon_ ," Aria, too, _almost_ laughs, but her face is still, as always, kept neutral. Maybe she's just shy around strangers; maybe it's just who she is, but hey, Emily doesn't judge. "But I love Beyonce, too. And country music."

Without precaution, Aria opens her mouth, and starts to sing. She sings, and she's pretty damn good at getting the notes all perfect, so Emily leans in, because it's beautiful ( _she's_ beautiful, but Aria's not much of her type).

Aria stops, and blushes. "Sorry. I just get these... forces. Getting me to sing."

"You're amazing," says Emily.

Aria's embarrassment is long gone, and she tilts her head at an angle. "People have different talents. I can hit the high notes. And you can..."

"I know a lot of famous people's last words." The words are out of Emily's mouth before she can stop them, and immediately she clamps it shut. See, she could have told her that she was good at swimming, because being named the _Texan Butterfly_ certainly meant _something_ , but no, she goes for something completely and utterly pathetic in a hundred million ways.

"Interesting," Aria nods. "What were John Lennon's last words?"

Emily blinks at her several times, before answering straight. She can now slightly recall him—he's from the _Beatles_ , the one who got shot. She read it in some biography. He got assassinated by this crazy fan of his in 1980. " _I'm shot_."

This time, Aria _does_ laugh, and it makes Emily feel good, because she suspected Aria was some... depressing... she didn't even know. "Good one. Almost caught you out on that."

As Emily buttons up the two top buttons of her _Ralph Lauren_ polo, she sees Aria eye the clock, and frantically turn around the room. "Ali's going to kill me."

Emily's tempted to ask who _Ali_ is, but Aria answers before she even gets the chance.

"C'mon, Emily. Follow me. This way," Aria says, and points down to the exit on the other side of the room, leading into a corridor. On the way, they see some other people entering and exiting their own dorm rooms—some say hello, and Aria replies (to some of them, anyway).

They walk on, on to the last room in the corridor, and in red marker pen, Emily can see _Alison has a single!_ scrawled upon a sheet of scrap paper, taped across the door. Aria opens it.

The room's pretty chaotic—that's the first thing she notices. It's not that it's messy, because it isn't, it's just that the shelves are the first thing Emily sees, and there are too many books to fill the gaps, so they all overflow, above, and above. The next thing she sees is a blonde sitting on the bed with an issue of _Vogue_ wide open, and a brunette on the other bed, scribbling down in a notepad.

"Visitors!" another voice shrieks—it's not from the two girls she's just seen, but from behind. The very girl leaps out of the bathroom, a toothbrush still in her hand, and a grin lights up her face as she bounces towards Emily and Aria, hauling them in. "Hey, _Judy Moody_ ," she smiles at Aria.

Emily takes this as a chance to study this new, mysterious girl, with blonde locks that tumble way past her shoulders, all wavy, and _perfect perfect perfect_. With eyes, so blown-out, and blue, and bright, and dazzling—with a figure that... damn, Emily can't explain how perfectly her body curves. She's taller than Aria, perhaps even skinnier, and definitely curvier.

"Aw, Smidge, where're you going?" the girl questions in a playful matter, as Aria walks pass her, plugging earphones in her ear, letting words fly right passed her. "You're not going to introduce me to your new lady friend?"

Aria pointedly sighs, and shrugs. "Ali, this is Emily Fields. She memorizes last words. Emily, this is Alison DiLaurentis, and she probably has some newsflash for us right this second."

"You know me too well, Smidge," Ali grins, and Emily wonders why she calls Aria Smidge, and not Aria. But she doesn't question, because what was it about _good first impressions?_ "Sam and I broke up. Again. It might be because I _sort of_ slept with Ian Thomas. _Sort of_. Well, Sam found out, and freaked."

The brunette's eyes widen, and so does the blonde's.

"He's my sister's ex-boyfriend," the brunette remarks. "And your brother's best friend."

"Don't I know it, Susan," Ali's eyes twinkle, and then she turns to finally look at Emily. "So... welcome to my humble abode, Emily—god, I'd better get you a nickname." Pause. "I see you've already met Smidge—she's a bit scary at the moment, but she's just depressed her boyfriend dumped her. Pulling a right _Judy_ , she is. That's—" Ali points at the brunette in the far corner who had just spoken. "Susan."

This... _Susan_ shakes her head, and rolls her eyes. "Ignore her. I'm Spencer. And Smidge is Aria. Ali's just messing with you."

"Right you are, Susan. Sorry, it's just I've known her for so long I forget her name sometimes. It happens, it happens. Anyway—" Ali then points at the other blonde, still engrossed in furry coats and winter boots. "That's Hefty. They're all a bit down in the dumps at the moment, you know, but mark my words, once Tweedledee and Tweedledum arrive, hell will break loose."

"Oh," Emily reluctantly nods.

"I'm Hanna," the blonde looks up. "Call me Hanna."

"Okay," Emily says. "Hanna."

Ali tuts, "Killjoys. Anyways, want a cigarette?" Alison holds out a small packet to Emily, who politely declines—she remembers what her father told her. _No smoking_. She's disobeyed them enough, and she doesn't want to go down _that_ road again.

"Come on," Ali repeats. "It's custom."

So Emily agrees, and takes one. (Only because it's Alison, and even if Emily's only just met her, she already can't get her off her fucking mind.)

* * *

 **Reviews? I'd love to hear some feedback. Should I continue? :)**


	2. The Right Wrong Thing

**Thank you, all you lovely people, for reviewing, and favouriting, and following! So, in this chapter... Emily meets Tweedledum, Tweedledee, learns a lot from Aria, talks about labryinthes, and eats her first bufriedo.**

* * *

 **the right wrong thing**

* * *

 _how will i ever get out of this labyrinth?  
_ — _**simon bolivar**_

* * *

Alison hands Emily the cigarette, and Emily is left to ponder whether to actually smoke it, or just leave it for later—did cigarettes have an expiry date? Pointedly, Ali looks at Emily, as if she's reading this new issue of _The Life and Times of Emily Fields_ , and Emily's smile falters as her cheeks blush a lovely shade of crimson.

"You've never... _smoked_ , have you?" Ali raises her eyebrows—Emily shakes her head in disagreement ( _it's not even a lie!_ ), and Ali's eyebrows shoot up even more. Emily can vaguely recall the last time she actually held onto a cigarette and (attempted to) smoke—it was around about the time she was fifteen or so, still locked up in the closet, when she'd come across a beautiful, dark-skinned, dark-haired, wild girl, who smoked weed, and smoked cigarettes, and did absolutely _everything_. Emily had fallen for her, but how could she _not_?

"I have," Emily nods. "Once."

"Ali, leave it alone," Spencer remarks, and she ignores it.

"It's the stuffiness," declares Alison, and she tugs at Emily's top, pulling her outside. "Let's go by the lake." The other's follow, and Emily notices how they all seem on the brink of running back, and arguing, but in the end, they all seem to do what Ali wishes. Emily's gaze drifts off to Alison, and she wonders exactly how people come into power—like the president of the US, like the Queen, like _her_.

"You know," starts Emily. "I'd rather not get into trouble."

Alison looks over her shoulder to a cabin on the top of the hills elsewhere. "Chill, the Eagle doesn't go into all beserker until term starts, so we'll be _fine_."

Emily almost splutters on her still un-smoked cigarette. "I... who's _the Eagle_."

"Wilden," Alison answers coolly. "He can be a bit frightening at times, but that's just of past experience, being an ex-detective and all. But usually he's like the rest of us—he smokes, he spliffs, he tells us off, then laughs, then laughs some more, and then sleeps." Emily nods at this, but isn't sure whether to say anything about... him.

Alison tosses Aria, Spencer, and Hanna each a cigarette, and then turns back to Emily. "You want to know something, Emily?"

Emily looks at her confusedly, but slowly nods.

"You've got really nice shoulders," Ali says, and Emily wonders if the smoke has gone to her head. "As in _amazing_ shoulders—girls _kill_ for those kind of shoulders, you know. And you've got 'em."

"Oh," Emily blushes again. "I—I—swim. Well, I used to. Back at my old school."

"Oh!" Ali grins. "Where are you from?"

"T-Texas," stutters Emily.

Alison's eyes twinkle. "So, did they call you, like, the _Texan Butterfly_ , or, like, the _Texas Stroker_?" Ali laughs at this.

"Wh-what?" Emily stammers, and when she catches Ali's wink, she almost freaking _melts_. "Well. Yes, actually. Butterfly's my forte—not terrible good at... backstroke-ing."

"Relax, Em, it's a joke," Alison rolls her eyes, and takes another puff from her cigarette. "So, you're not going to—" Ali's gaze flickers from Emily's hand, to above her head, where two boys walk in—one has chin-lengthed black hair, and the other has short brown hair. In another world, if Emily was straight, she guesses she would be able to find them "cute". Emily shuts her mouth, and lets Alison do all the welcoming. "If it isn't our two chimpanzees—Em, this is our very own Tweedledum and Tweedledee."

"Oh, yes, and _she's_ our very own _joker_ , isn't she?" the one with longer hair remarks cynically.

"Wrong book. And plus, it's a movie," Ali rolls her eyes. "So, Dumb, and Dumber, how is life going?"

Spencer speaks up. "Once again, Emily, Ali's talking trash. The guy with long hair is _Caleb_ , and he's Hanna's boyfriend. The other guy is _my_ boyfriend, Toby."

"Oh," is all Emily says. "I'm, uh, Emily."

"She's the _Texan Stroker_ ," grins Alison. "Oh, and she learns famous people's last words."

Toby turns, and gives Emily a warm smile. "I take it you swim, then?" He lowers his voice. "It's been years of practice, but I've learnt how to decipher the grand words of the Alison."

"Oh," Emily says, a little jolted. "Yes, I do swim. Well, I used to."

"Yeah," Caleb speaks up. "Rosewood Day's not exactly the school for jocks. It's more like a... _if you're a fuck-up, come fuck it up here_ kind of school. But you'll fit in—everyone fits in, one way or another."

Emily's not quite sure if she'll take that as "pearls of wisdom".

* * *

"So," Aria starts as they make their way back to their dormitories—in a short space of, she doesn't know, two hours or so, Emily has smoked her first _proper_ cigarette, almost been murdered by that murderous swan across the lake, and probably made at least ten wrong choices. "What do you think of Alison?"

Emily thinks for a second. _Well, you see, I think she's bloody amazing, and the most beautiful girl I've ever seen. Yeah, I think I'm smitten_. Instead, she says, "She's... quite something."

"Basically, she's delusional," Aria says, and Emily nods, because aside being absolutely flawless, she _is_ a bit... shambolic. "I think she likes you, though."

"How do you know that?" says Emily, maybe a little quicker than she would have wished to.

"Because she hasn't tried to a) drown you in the lake with that killer swan, b) give you spliff that'd probably kill at least seventy-five people, and finally, c)... yeah, I don't have a c)," Aria _almost almost_ laughs. "It's okay. Say it with me, ' _Alison DiLaurentis is a crazy, unstable creature_ '..."

Emily doesn't follow on, but asks, "Why does she have a single?"

"Ah," Aria starts. "She shared it with this girl called Jenna, but then she got caught by the Eagle, committing the Trifecta. This other guy, Noel, got expelled with her."

Emily looks at her strangely, and asks, "What's the Trifecta?"

"The Trifecta?" says Aria. "Well, it's the performance of the three most forbidden things here at Rosewood Day. Meaning, drugs, cigarettes, and, uh... _genital contact_. Either way, they _abused_ their privileges."

"But—"

"Yeah, we know, we all do," Aria says. "Ali does at least two of three every day. That's why there are rumours circling around that someone ratted them out. I mean, they were hidden enough, too. And the Eagle isn't exactly the smartest guy around."

"Right," nods Emily. They reach their dormitory, and as soon as they enter the room of puke green, Emily collapses onto the bottom bunk—the smoke seemed to have already reached her head, and she can just about smell the fumes, barely, but just about.

" _Aria_!" a voice shouts from outside. " _Aria_ , can you hear me?"

"Ignore it," states Aria. "That's just Mike. Mom took all his spliff, so he's left with nothing."

"O-okay," Emily stutters.

"You know, Alison wasn't always that insane," Aria says thoughtfully when they're both tucked up in bed. The lamp is off already, and it's pitch black. "I think it happened after her mom died. When she was around thirteen. Then, her dad left, and she lost her mind."

"She's all alone then?" asks Emily.

"She's got her... brother," Aria says, with some difficulty, but then shakes it off as if it's nothing. "But he's trying to keep them both alive, so she usually just stays here at school." Pause. "Ali might be positively insane for all the good reasons, but I don't think Sam deserved that."

Emilly only nods again, because she can't find the right words.

"She was a sweet girl," Aria sighs. "And Alison broke her heart."

" _Her_?" Emily's unsure if she heard correctly— _her_?

"Yep," Aria says, and Emily doesn't know whether to celebrate, ot hibernate under the thin, thin duvet covers. "Alison likes to switch around a lot. I think she likes _being_ with people, but it never really makes sense in her world, 'cause she hates being tied down. I remember what she said, quoting, 'I am not a tiger being sacrificed'. No, nothing _really_ makes sense in her world. And I've known her since I was twelve."

They say nothing for a while, but Emily knows when Aria's asleep, because she can hear the light snores echo ever so quietly in the room.

* * *

The sunlight almost blinds Emily.

She's up and out of bed, and she's all pumped up ( _not_ because she's on the way to see Alison, promise, promise) and ready to go, when _bam_ , the incandescent rays of the closest star to Earth manages to damage her retina, or something, because _she... cannot... see_.

"You're up early," Aria groans, and she climbs down the ladder of the bunk bed.

"Uh... yeah." Emily's never been good at snarky comebacks.

"Hey, Emily, ever tried a bufriedo?" asks Aria, and she scrapes her hair into a bun.

"N-no..." Emily replies.

"Well, get dressed quickly, my love," Aria grins (she _actually_ grins!). "because you are about to be _amazed_."

Emily thinks that they should have a new event in the Olympics—bufriedo-making, because there is surely nothing better than your first bite _into_ that fried bean burrito of heavenly goodness.

Aria takes her to a circular table with some red chairs around it, and they sit and wait for the others to join them. Spencer and Hanna, with their boyfriends, arrive, and they are shortly followed by Alison.

"Hi, Smidge," Ali waves to Aria. "Hefty, Susan. And co." Alison then turns her head, and at the sight of Emily, gives her a lopsided grin that's so freaking _adorable_ that Emily is almost unable to contain herself. "Hi, Nice-Shoulders-I-Need-To-Get-You-A-Nickname." She takes the empty seat—the one between Emily and Spencer.

"Hey, Ali," Emily smiles at her. Just as she says this, another girl approaches their table, one almost as glamourous as Ali is. Her hair is dark, and in curls, and she steals a glance at Hanna, who looks at her most apologetically. Emily wants to ask why no one is speaking, until Ali mouthes something at the others, making that girl roll her eyes and walk away. Hanna is staring at Alison as if she's just been betrayed, and the others are all averting eyes.

Once all the bufriedos are all in the process of being digested, Alison takes Emily's hand, and they run towards her single, moving swiftly past all the others.

"So, I had a question for you," Alison says, and she then proceeds to pick out a book from the oh so crowded bookshelves by the right side. "Aria and Hanna are too ignorant for me to ask them, and Spencer will think _I'm_ the ignorant one—I wouldn't ask the two potheads if I was given the world, and you seem pretty smart. This has been bothering me since I first picked the book up." She stops. "Have you heard of a Simon Bolivar?" Before Emily can even consider an answer, she carries on. " _The General in His Labrynth_. Written by Gabriel Garcia Marquez." She holds up a small hardback before them, and when Emily shakes her head, she turns the page, one that seems worn-out, and used a lot—Emily guesses she's done _a lot_ of thinking on this. Emily knows _for sure_ that she probably won't be able to answer her whatever she has to ask.

Alison lights a cigarette, and tells her, "It's a historical novel, so I guess we can't mark _all_ his words, but it's the guy's _last words_ that puzzles me. And intrigues me. In the best way possible, of course."

Emily nods silently, and lets Alison read the passage:

" _He_ —that's Simon Bolivar we're talking about— _was shaken by the overwhelming revelation, that the headlong race between his misfortunes and his dreams was, at that moment, reaching the finish line. The rest was darkness. 'Damn it', he sighed. 'How will I ever get out of this labyrinth?_ "

Not once, in all her last-word-searching history, has Emily heard such words that she doesn't understand (okay, maybe she doesn't understand _a lot_ , but she always comes out with a solution of _some sorts_ ). "What's the labyrinth?"

Alison moves a little closer to Emily, and Emily breathes in a soft fragrance of sweet vanilla, and fried chicken. Nothing has been more powerful.

"Well, that's the mystery, isn't it?" Alison sighs wistfully. "Is the labyrinth living or dying? Which is he trying to escape? The world or the end of it?" She looks pointedly at Emily, as if she is waiting for an answer, and takes another puff from the cigarette she is holding.

"I... don't know," Emily admits. "But... you've really read all these books?"

Alison laughs. "Oh, god, no. Not yet—I mean, there's about a thousand of these, you know, every summer, huge car boot sales. I pick out all of the interesting-looking ones, buy them, and bring them here. I've only read about... a third of them. But I _will_ read them all, when I'm old, and boring, and I can't stand the smell of bufriedos. But for now—" One more puff. "I live life like no tomorrow."

Alison hands Emily a cigarette, and this time Emily _does_ take it, and lights it.

"You're really cute, you know," she remarks. "And I am allowed to say that now, because I am officially partner-less."

If she blushes any harder, Emily is sure her cheeks will burst into flames. "I think you are, too, I guess. And I can say that, because I never had a... partner to begin with."

"Oh, I'll take care of that," winks Alison. "You're hot enough, and I'll get you a boy in no time at all."

Emily wants to speak, wants to interject, but she's too scared.

"But you don't seem the straight type to me, no offence," Alison smirks, and Emily wonders if she is _that_ transparent—for as much as she can remember, she hasn't, not once, mentioned anything about liking girls. "Correction: I'll get you a _girl_ in no time at all." She smiles. "I'm not a stalker, I just have my experience. I know when people are gay or not."

"Right," Emily murmurs.

"So it's sorted. On one condition," Ali says. "You help me find out what this 'labrynth' is."

Surely— _surely_ —it's not going to be _too_ hard, right?

* * *

 **Short chapter, I know! I'm thinking of adding a dash of Mike/Mona in, you know. And also, I've also been thinking if I should add A in this story, or not. I'd love to hear your thoughts!**


	3. Into The Inferno

**The last two chapters have been pretty short. They'll be longer now.**

 **So, in this chapter... Emily attends her first day at Rosewood Day, meets a girl she likes (while Alison gets pissed), has a rather interesting conversation with Mona Vanderwaal, and finds out the truth about a certain someone's relationship with a certain ex-English teacher.**

* * *

 **into the inferno**

* * *

 _i went the distance  
_ — _**steve byrnes**_

* * *

" _EEEMMMIIILLLYYY_!"

Emily groans as she hears Aria shout at the top of her lungs, jumping down from her bunk bed to pull Emily out. Emily groans again, and pulls her pillow tightly against her chest, as if letting go would literally mean having to face the Eagle, and many, many fifty-minute lessons, on a certain first day of school.

Emily finally allows Aria to pull her off by her legs, and she wakes up fully as her head crashes onto the ground. She waits for an apology, doesn't receive one, and grudgingly gets up to splash some cold water on her face. That is when she notices Aria is already fully changed, in clothes very Aria-like (very black, and chain-y), and rolling her eyes, she wonders why she got a roommate who was so freaking organised.

"Newbies have to go see the guidance counsellor," Aria states as she starts to brush her hair—she looks at the clock, and then back at Emily. "And as of the time, newbies are meant to be at the office... twenty-five minutes ago."

Emily's expression turns to horror, as she disbelievingly stares up at the clock—"That was _not_ on the enrollment letter... I... I— _what_?"

Aria laughs. "I'm joking, I'm joking. Our guidance counsellor got fired in my freshmen year."

Emily sighs in relief. "Jesus Christ."

Aria, seeing that Emily is still in her butterfly pyjamas, pulls her out of the bathroom with such force they both topple onto the ground, and that's when the door opens.

"Ah, what a lovely sight," Alison smirks as she walks in, and takes a seat on Emily's bed. She pulls out a pack of cigarettes, lights one, and then offers Emily and Aria one, to which they politely decline. "Put on something decent, Em. There's the Eagle you need to tackle, but you can start wearing a sack from tomorrow." She looks at Aria. "Smidge, you wore that last week, hon."

Aria rolls her eyes, and picks up her bag. She walks to the door, and mutters, "I'm going to meet up with Spence and Han. Don't go picking anymore fights."

Alison raises her eyebrows as she leaves, and crosses her legs, still smoking. "So... are you, or are you not going to enlighten me with one of your last word things?"

"Oh," Emily says, a little taken aback.

"Why don't I enlighten you?" Alison grins. " _Everything is an illusion_."

"Mata Hari," Emily responds immediately.

"We have a winner," laughs Ali. "It's always puzzled me—everything is an illusion. That's what the world is, isn't it? An illusion. She was about to face the firing squad." She sighs wistfully. "Talking of which, have you found anything regarding the labyrinth we were chatting about yesterday?"

"Well..." Emily pauses. "It's been... twelve hours?"

"Yuhuh," Ali laughs, and then walks to Emily's rather stuffed chest of drawers—she picks out a pair of black shorts, and a baggy white tee. She tosses the clothes to her, and ransacks the drawer again for a suitable outwear. "In this case—" Alison passes her a baseball jacket. "—the Eagle won't treat you like a vagrant, and even the Weekday Warriors won't spit in your face." Pause. "Straight away."

Emily nods, and thanks her quietly for the clothes, before asking, "Who are the _Weekday Warriors_?"

"The rich bastards. I like to keep my distance," Alison smiles, and then stands up. "They're here only for day school, and they have parents who actually care. They go home every night, and get to miss the sweet, sweet smell of BO."

 _My parents care. They just live about five hours away_. "Right, uh..." She gestures to where Ali is standing, and then looks down at herself. "I sort of need to change. Can you, um..."

"Chill, Emmy," grins Alison. "We're all girls here."

"Okay..." Nervously, Emily starts to take her pyjamas off, and blushes profusely as she catches Alison devote her wholly attention to her body. They lock eyes, and Ali gives her a little wink, in which Emily blushes even harder, if that was possible. She shoves on the shirt Ali picked out, and then proceeds to take her bottoms off. She can still feel Alison's gaze linger on hers.

" _And_... we're good to go," Alison take Emily's hand as soon as she's completely changed, and they walk to the main school building together, stopping once in a while as people wave at Ali, or marvel at her, or both. "And there's the Eagle," says Ali, once they're in the atrium. "I give you the best of luck."

Emily gulps, and turns back around, where a man, maybe in his late twenties, is staring at her with such malice she feels like shrivelling up. _This the Eagle_ , she thinks to herself. He resembles the average creepy bartender, and she guesses _some_ people could find him okay-looking, once upon another time, but he's still creepy, and Emily has no fucking clue what to do.

"Ahah," the Eagle starts, and he carries on glaring. "You must be Miss Emily Fields, out newest student." Numbly, Emily nods. "Welcome to Rosewood Day, Miss Fields. You're given a large measure of freedom here. If you abuse, you'll regret it. You seem like a promising young lady. I'd hate to bid you farewell." His expression breaks into an even creepier _smile_. "And I'm Detective Wilden. No drugs, no cigarettes, no drinking, no sex, bla bla bla, yeah, yeah."

Emily smiles, gritting her teeth, and watches him leave.

"That's the look of doom," a girl says from behind her. Emily turns around to see it as the blonde she saw yesterday—the one who Ali nicknamed "Hefty". She doesn't understand why, because she's not in any way _fat_. "The whole scary _grrr_ , and then that creepy smile. The next time you see that, you're doomed."

"Right," Emily nods. "Hanna, isn't it?"

"Yup," Hanna grins.

"And Spencer," Emily turns to the brunette holding a pyschology textbook.

"That's correct," Spencer smiles.

"Well, if you stop being a swot, Spence, and if you stop catching flies with your mouth, Em, can we _please please please_ head to the cafeteria, because I. Am. _Starving_ ," Hanna groans, and she places her hand on her stomach. " _Guys_ , come on!"

Hanna pulls both girls' arms, and they reach the cafeteria. Aria and Alison are already at the table in the far right, munching on hash browns and waffles.

"Took y'all long enough," Alison laughs as they gather round at the table. "Aria and I were just discussing out new _English_ teacher. I think her name's Mrs Shepherd, but I don't know. But if anything, she'll be better than that Mr Fitz, yeah?"

"Mr Fitz was a nice teacher—a good one, too," Spencer says. "He was probably one of the only teachers at school who could _actually_ teach. And now he's gone." Spencer sighs, and takes a bite out of Aria's toast—talking of Aria, she seems on the verge of breaking down. "But shit happens."

"Yeah! It does," proclaims Aria. "Um, we'll be—"

"Such a looker, too," giggles Hanna.

" _Please_ , he was a fucking creep," Alison rolls her eyes. "He was sleeping with a student, remember? _That's_ the reason he got fired." She pauses. "There are still rumours going around—some say it was Jenna Marshall. What a fucking slut."

"Okay, we're going to be late," Aria quips up, and refuses to meet anyone's gaze. " _Hello_?"

* * *

The bell for first period rings, and Emily lines up in an orderly fashion outside the laboratory. An downside—Emily's terrible at chem, at anything apart from swimming, in all honesty; an upside—at least she shares the class with Alison.

"Mr Banks," starts Alison. "is a toad with demented front teeth. He'll bore you out within the first two minutes, and whatever you do, please please _please_ , don't stare at his monobrow. He also stinks of cabbage—please ignore that, too."

"Duly noted," says Emily, and she turns back around, to see several students peering at her maliciously—and it's almost as terrifying as the Eagles "look of doom". She nervously clears her throat, before turning back to Alison. "Why are they staring?"

"Because they're Weekday Warriors," says Alison. "And all Weekday Warriors hate me, and because you are my sort-of friend, they hate you, too. But you'll get used to it for a while—it's just that the tossers think _I_ ratted out Noel and Jenna. Nonsense—just nonsense."

Emily nods— _sort-of friend_. Ouch. "Okay. Um..."

They start moving, and pour into the lab. Ali turns to Emily—"I'll be back pronto." She leaves, and so Emily walks on, alone. She sees Mr Banks by the blackboard, and holds her breath as she walks past him—she stands awkwardly in front of everyone, looking for an empty seat. She sees Toby Cavanaugh in the corner, but the seat next to him is taken by this ginger guy she's never seen before. The Weekday Warriors don't stop staring ( _glaring_ , even). Emily has no idea what she is supposed to do.

"Hey," a voice brings her out of her troubles.

"Um... hi?" Emily wonders if the voice belongs to Hanna, Spencer, Aria, or even Ali—it doesn't, and so she turns around to see who it is. She doesn't recognise the voice, let alone _her_ , and without meaning to, she stares into this new girl, with the hair _just_ the right shade of brown, and the beautiful, beautiful caramelised eyes. She's wearing a light blue denim jacket, and matching denim jeans, and something about her is so... so...

"You must be new," this girl says, interrupting her thoughts—her voice is kind of husky, an beautiful all the same. It's charismatic— _she's_ charismatic. (Almost _almost_ like Alison, except not quite.) "My name's Paige. Paige McCullers."

"Hi, Paige," says Emily, smiling. "I'm Emily Fields."

"That's a lovely name," Paige grins. "Want to be my lab partner for the year of 2011, and beyond?"

Emily hesitates, hoping she hasn't seen her reluctance—she wants to sit next to this... Paige, she really does, because she's absolutely beautiful, and she seems so nice, yet if she does, Emily won't be sitting next to Alison, who's also beautiful (maybe even more), and nice in her own special Ali way. She's a little torn, and she doesn't know which way is more shredded. So she keeps quiet (she's good at keeping quiet).

"You don't have to," laughs Paige. "I may have approached you in the wrong way."

"No, no," Emily shakes her head. "I'm sorry. I just don't have many friends yet, so I was kinda confused whether you were talking to me, or someone else—I'd love to sit next you; be your partner 'for the year of 2011, and beyond'." Paige laughs, and so does Emily, and they both take one of the empty tables.

"I'm pretty awful at this," Emily admits.

"At what?"

"At all of it—making friends. I mean, I have a couple now—Alison, Aria, Hanna, and Spencer," Emily sighs—she notices Paige's smile falter at the mention of "Alison", but decides to ignore it. "but that just... happened. And I'm _crap_ at all things science-y, so I beg you to bear with me."

"No problemo," Paige grins. "I came here with a full ride chemistry scholar—"

"You _what_?" exclaims Emily.

"I'm joking," laughs Paige. "I got a _U_ in my last exam. Mr Banks wasn't... _particularly_ impressed."

"Oh, that's good," Emily sighs in relief. "I mean, not... what I meant... I didn't mean 'good' as in, I'm glad you got that in your test... I meant... _damn_..." Emily tries to stop herself from blushing, but Paige has already seen her, and now she's blushing even more. "I'm glad to be sitting next to—"

"Alison DiLaurentis is back in the game!" The door is bust open, and Ali sashays in. "Sorry, got a little held up, but I. Am. _BBBAAACCCKKK_!" Emily notices how not everyone is pleased with Alison's great return—some cheer, particular the boys (including that ginger); some, like Paige, stiffen as she speaks; some, especially Toby, roll their eyes, as if this is something she does every day. It probably is, but Emily doesn't even so move an inch; she has _no idea_ what she's meant to do. If Alison's her _sort-of_ friend, then she's supposed to cheer, no?

Alison's eyes meet Emily's, and they flicker to Paige's. This time, Ali is the one to roll her eyes, and she takes the remaining seat, right at the back—Emily's stomach is churning. This isn't how she is meant to feel, right?

* * *

"I think Alison's ignoring me," Emily quips up as they gather into the English classroom—this time, there are many upsides, because English is something Emily actually has knowledge on, and she shares it with not only Alison, but with Spencer, Hanna, Aria, Paige, and the boyfriends, too. One downside—Alison is pissed at her. Very. She knows that from the way Ali stormed out as soon as the bell cued the end of chem.

"Alison has her moments," Aria says, and she sits down. "You learn to ignore it."

"Why was she mad anyway?" asks Hanna, and she takes the seat beside her. "She seems to like you."

"I didn't know she wanted to sit next to me!" Emily says loudly.

"Even for her, that's a little... childish," Spencer says. "I mean, not being able to sit next to a friend is something preschoolers fight about." Spencer sits down in the seat behind them, and Emily joins her. "Who was this... person you sat next to?"

"Her," Emily nods to Paige's direction, currently deep in conversation with this dark-skinned girl.

"Oh," Hanna lowers her voice.

"Oh?" questions Emily.

"They've got a bit of history," answers Aria.

"Pigskin," adds Spencer. "That's her nickname for her."

Alison enters the classroom, her eyes coolly dropped—she finds a seat behind the girls, and as they try to talk to her, she hums, and blocks her ears.

"Good morning, class," the teacher (Mrs Shepherd) walks in—she's the typical middle-aged teacher, with the too-tight pencil skirt, and too-tight blouse, with the lack of a bra underneath (huge mistake, really). Her blonde-grey hair is tightly secured with a pin, and she turns to the form. "As you know, Mr Fitz was, uh, _sacked_ due to creative reasons last term, so I will be your new English teacher."

The class groans. (Aria stiffens at the mention of Mr Fitz; Emily makes a mental note to ask her about it.)

"None of that," the teacher snaps. "I have a few ground rules if you expect to graduate and _get on_ with your lives—I'm expecting a class who _listens_ to me. Three strikes, and you're off. No English class for you. Non. Nein. Nada. No inappropriate behaviour—no kissing, no... contacting, nothing like that." A few snickers go around the room, causing her to stamp her foot. "No texting, no calling, no emailing. I believe that this school is of grace, and integrity, and I'm expecting no less from _you_."

More groans. (Aria seems to relax a little.)

"I also have allocated seats for you," she declares, and smiles. "When I read your name off the list, come and sit with your new partner. In this order—" Mrs Shepherd points at the table closest to her. "Hanna Marin, Shana Fring. Spencer Hastings, Andrew Campbell. Paige McCullers, Caleb Rivers. Alison DiLaurentis, Sean Ackard. Lucas Gottesman..."

Emily waits until her name is called out—she is one of the last ones.

"...Emily Fields, Mona Vanderwaal."

Emily moves to the seat she is allocated, and sees that Mona is already there. She doesn't think she's _spoken_ to her before, but she remembers her face, yesterday, when they were eating bufriedos. Mona smiles at her, and pats the seat next to her.

"Hi," Emily starts.

"Hello," Mona nods politely. "Let's start with the basics—I'm Mona Vanderwaal. I hate the smell of sweat, but I also hate it when people put on _too_ much perfume, you know? So don't overdo it, I don't want the class to smell of _Febreeze_ —that can give you cancer, so can cola. I hate those liquid-y glues, so please _please_ just use pritt sticks. I do not allow skirts any more than seven inches bellow the pelvis, but you're wearing shorts, so that's alright. I don't date guys who are younger than me. I can't stand the colour orange, and..."

"I'm Emily," Emily holds out her hand, which Mona takes. Somewhat reluctantly.

"Coolio," she grins. "You're Alison's new friend: I saw you at lunch yesterday. She's a bit of a bitch, isn't she? I saw what she did to you in chem. I mean, _just_ because she doesn't like Paige that much. Like, how could someone even _do_ that?" Mona sighs. "We used to be alright, you know? Me and Hanna—we were best friends, like, forever. But then Alison took over the world, so I'm stuck with my guy-friends."

"That's lovely," Emily offers.

"No, it really isn't," Mona shakes her head. "I mean, they're not even my proper _friends_. I'm just their sort-of clever booty call. Lucas is okay, though. He's actually kind of sweet." She then looks at Aria. "And Mike's in my support group—he's quite nice. _But I don't date guys who are younger than me_."

"I never said you—"

" _Anyways_ , if you're going to be Alison's BFF, then please don't act like a total fat-face bitch around me—I can't stand them. Talk about me, for all I care, just remember that Alison's a toxic excuse for a girl, and she's capable of physically (and mentally) everything. I mean, look at poor Noel, and Jenna!" Mona sighs. "Poor bastards."

Emily nods, a little lost for words.

"No, I'm not a Weekday Warrior, if you're asking," Mona smiles at her. "Just mark my words—Alison's kind of a cow. She plays with you; she plays with everyone. Watch. Out." Mona turns back down to the table as the teacher gives out exercise books. " _Liberemus diuturna cura populum Romanum, quando mortem senis exspectare longum censent._ " Pause. Emily is in sheer shock. "Hannibal. Right?"

* * *

The day drones on, with double maths, and calcalus, and geography—as far as first days go, to be honest, this is one pretty crappy one. For one thing, Emily's pretty sure she's developed her second crush in two days, and for the second, _Alison is still not acknowledging her existence_. She can't _still_ be peed off that Emily chose Paige over her... right?

Emily almost screams in relief when the clock strikes half past four. Her last lessons is music, and as Dr Minim (yes, really) dismisses them, Alison grabs at Emily's arm, singing at the very top of her voice.

Emily's pretty sure her left root canal has been damaged.

"How was little Em-Em's first day?" she muses, and Emily raises her eyebrows. What was it about being extra moody? "Damn, I _need_ a nickname for you, but none seem to fit. I mean, it's pretty easy for others—like Hefty is Hanna, Susan is Spence, Smidge is Ari, and there's Loser Mona, and Hermaphrodite, and Pigskin—"

"Why do you hate Paige so much?" intercepts Emily.

"It's a long story, sweetheart. Anyways. Nicknames," Alison sighs. "It's probably just because you're rather difficult. In a really, really good way. _But_ , as I said, none of my nicknames seem to quite fit you... Hmm..."

 _Why don't you just call me "Fake", and get it over and done with?_

"Okay, Emily," Alison says suddenly. "The girls—Hanna, Spencer, and Aria—and I have a... tradition. First days are the worst, but second days are more worse, right?" Emily shrugs. "Yeah. So, in celebration of the end of seven hours of inferno, we get ass-off drunk."

"...What?"

"I'm joking," giggles Alison. "There's this massive party not far from here—like, everyone from our school goes to it, as I said. In celebration." She giggles again, and sighs wistfully. "And the best thing is, is that they give out these _wonderful creations_. These hangover tablets—they're like an alcoholic's manna."

"But the teachers—"

"I bet you five quid that the Eagle will be there," Alison says, a glint in her eye. "He's a sadist. He's always there."

* * *

They don't end up going—they're dressed and all, but they're already too drunk to function the moment they clink open a bottle of tequila. Alison starts having a giggling fit, with Aria and Hanna following, and Spencer, though a little disapproving, joining in. Emily's never been drunk before, but she's not sure she likes it very much.

"Secrets," Alison laughs, as she opens her dormitory door, and steps outside. "Secrets! That's what keeps us close, hey?" She turns around—"C'mon, girlie-girls, we're going to the shed." She hauls Emily up, spinning her around, before pulling her outside.

Emily understands what Mona said back in English—Alison is capable of physically (and mentally) everything. She's the only known girl who possibly has access to the old shed in the field, due course to her flirting with the janitor.

"We'll... have our _OWN_ party!" giggled Hanna, and she brings a broom up to start dancing with it.

"Yah, Hefty Hanna," Alison says. "We shall."

Emily holds her breath. She _hates_ being drunk. But then again, how is she so sure she is one hundred percent alert. She doesn't. Surely.

"We should call Deedletum and Deedletee..." Alison yawns loudly. "Anyone got a phone on ya?"

"I'll do it," Emily presses, being the only one who is remotely non-drunk. She takes out Hanna's phone, and goes throw recent calls, clicking on Caleb's contact number. She wonders if he is at the party, and is about to ask, until he answers.

" _Hanna Banana?_ " Caleb's voice rings through. " _You at the party?_ "

"Not exactly," Emily answers. "It's Emily. And—" She lowers her voice. "Your girlfriend, and the others are currently, um... 'ass-off- drunk. Not at the inferno party, or whatever, but at this... shed? I don't know, Alison apparently got to the caretaker... Please come. They're... very drunk."

" _Okay_ , _sure. We'll be on our way_ ," Caleb pauses. " _Are_ you _okay?_ "

"I'm not drunk," murmurs Emily. "At least, I don't think I am." She hangs up, and watches as they take in turns to congo around the shed. She doesn't understand the concept of "being drunk"—it was just an excuse to act like a bunch of six-year-olds, was it not?

She waits. She waits, and she waits, and she waits.

 _Knock_. _Knock_. _Knock_.

"Finally," Emily says, and she opens the door to the shed/barn, and lets Caleb and Toby in. They look a little stressed out, but laughs at the sight of the others collapsed on top of each other. Quite frankly, Emily doesn't know what is so funny about the situation, because who was going to be the ones who were laughing when they suffered from blown-out headaches, following on the apparent "second days are more worse" saying?

"Caleb-boo," Hanna calls out, and peppers him with kisses. "Missed you. Missed you _so so_ much."

"Han..." Caleb chuckles. "Just how drunk are you?"

"Not very drunk," Spencer says from Toby's grasp. "Just a _little_ bit."

"Yuhuh," Aria says, and without warning, she bursts into tears. Everyone is taken aback, and watches Aria with a careful eye (well, mostly those who are not drunk). She carries on sobbing, the tears running down her cheeks, and her nose messily. Emily wonders if this is what she was trying _not_ to do, when she was in her "I refuse to smile" mood.

"Aria, are you okay?" Caleb asks seriously.

"Typical!" Aria groans, rolling over, still sobbing to her heart's content. "I mean, it's always _me me me_ who gets the worst out of it, you know? Like how... I don't understand how someone could have _known_! I hadn't told _anyone_... except for one... and we didn't even _do_ anything like everyone said we did..."

"What's going on?" asks Toby.

"It's always _me me me_ nobody fucking wants," she repeats—Alison seems to be blushing for some reason. She shuffles up to Emily, and Emily lets her hand slip in hers (she loves it, but she doesn't know why). "They all just... picked me up, and threw me down again. And I thought Ezra... Ezra and I had a _chance_. But nothing ever works out for Aria fucking Montgomery, does it? _No_ , of course not! I mean, it's not like I wanted to _marry_ him. I just... he didn't even say goodbye! He just got sacked, packed up his stuff, and walked away. Stupid, _stupid_..."

Toby and Caleb look at her incredulously. The other girls, even in their slightly drunken haze seem to catch on what she is saying. Emily tries not to believe.

Aria faints. It all goes out.

* * *

 **Quite a hectic chapter, with not much Emison at all. Now, I have a few things to say: Thank you for your reviews/favourites/follows** — **they mean a lot! And some of you have either reviews or PMed on whether to have an A in this story, or not. I have decided against it, but instead, I'm interpreting it in a different way, so Mona will have a past with the liars, maybe with stalking them (before Emily came into the picture)** — **that will all unravel in the next couple of chapters.**

 **One more thing: In this chapter, we met Paige. There will most definitely be a Paige/Ali/Emily love triangle, resulting in, obviously, Emison, but I just want to say, to any Paily fans who could be reading, that there will be** _ **NO NON NEIN NADA**_ **Paige-bashing. I love Paige too much to do that.** _ **AND**_ **there will also not be any Ezria** — **heavy mentions, yes, but it will most likely be a tinge of Wesria, and maybe some Jaria towards the end.**

 **Thank you all already!**


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